


Spread your legs wider for me, sweetheart

by Prim_the_Amazing



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Threesome - F/F/F, is it incest if their boobs dont touch, no bashing on kanaya tho, offscreen but v recent breakup, or rosemary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 19:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15126299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: Jane is beautiful and she and Roxy are in love, and yet for some reason Rose doesn’t think the building heat she feels in the pit of her stomach is envy. Want, definitely, but not a want for what they have, exactly… More of a physical want than something abstract. More like something she can actually reach out and take.“See something you like?” Jane asks, and Rose’s gaze snaps back up to her face to catch a raised eyebrow and light blue eyes twinkling with mischief.





	Spread your legs wider for me, sweetheart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [secondhandact](https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondhandact/gifts).



Rose is ‘mutually broken up’ with by Kanaya, and she promptly upends her wardrobe into an industrial large black trash bag, sweeping her half of the bathroom countertop into her largest purse, herds Jasper into the cat carrier, and leaves before she can break and cry in front of Kanaya. She does that ten minutes later, parked in an alleyway and eating a subpar gas station cheesecake because it feels like the thing to do, and now she gets to be upset by eating so many calories that don’t even taste that good as well. 

And then she drives for three hours straight in the direction of Washington DC before it occurs to her that 1. She forgot her knitting and it’s too late for her to come slinking back for it now and she’d been working _ hard _ on that scarf, and 2. She forgot to call ahead. 

She pulls of the road because in spite of the heartbreak she doesn’t particularly feel like causing a pileup. She checks herself in the mirror and grimaces. She’ll have to primp before she arrives at her destination, get rid of those mascara streaks and reapply her makeup, wash her face and make sure she doesn’t still look flushed and swollen and red and shiny eyed. For now though, it just matters what she sounds like. She can fake it for a phone call. 

She takes a few deep breaths, clears her throat, and calls her cousin. 

“Rosie?” she hears. Rose smiles despite herself, feels something that isn’t just tight misery for the first time all day. She’s making the right decision. 

“Hello, Roxy,” she says, and is pleased at how smooth and normal she sounds. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other.” 

“Ages!” she agrees instantly. “Not, like, since that music festival this summer.” 

“I can hardly recall your face.” 

“Streak your hair pink and look in the mirror, lol.” 

“Ah, but that still lacks your particular charm, Roxy. Perhaps a visit?” 

“Hell yes!! That sounds super cool, babe.” Roxy will call anyone babe, or baby, or sweetheart, or hon, or dear, or hot stuff. Rose has always been fond of this quirk. “You on me or me on you?” 

“What if I came and saw you?” she suggests. 

“Awesome, yes,” she says. “I’ll clear out the guest room. Bet it’s full of detective or prank or cooking shit again already.” 

“Or perhaps a dozen laptops scavenged from the closest dump.” 

“Hey, that was _ one time _ and for a project! So, when are you thinking is a good time? Me and Janey have that vacation to Japan in July, so--” 

“How about now?” she asks. 

A pause. “Now?” Roxy asks. “Like, this month, or  _ now _ now--”

“Today,” she says. “What if I came and visited today.” 

“Rosie,” she says, and she abruptly sounds concerned,  _ worried, _ and Rose grimaces at herself, wishing that Kanaya had given her a two weeks notice like she was responsibly quitting a job, except that sounds absolutely awful. 

“Everything’s fine,” she rushes to assure her. “I just wanted to see you.” 

“Is Jasper okay?” 

“Jasper’s fine. I’m bringing him, even.” 

“Okay,” Roxy says, and she hears the release of a relieved sigh. Rose bites her lip and grins a little at that. “Does that mean that you couldn’t find anyone to cat sit? Oh, Kanaya’s coming too, then?” 

It feels like a punch to the gut, to hear her name unexpectedly. The casual assumption that everything’s hunky dory between them. How long is it going to take before the information has reached every branch of the grapevine, and no one will ever bring her up like that again to Rose’s face? 

“... Rosie?” 

Rose swallows, her throat clicking. “No,” she says, and her voice sounds a little… raspy. Strained. “She isn’t coming.” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Roxy breathes. 

“I’ll be there in an hour,” she says, strangled by the lump in her throat, and then hangs up and turns her phone off before she can do something stupid like sob into it. 

 

Rose arrives, with an impeccable outfit and an impeccable face of makeup she’d put on in a  grimy gas station bathroom, to Roxy kicking the door open the instant she pulls into their driveway and  _ throwing _ herself at her. 

“Roxy,” she says. “Please let me get my seatbelt off.” Or even the car door open. Roxy’s leaning in through the  _ window _ to cling at her. 

“You can stay with us for as long you like,” she says. 

“I’m visiting,” she says. 

“You can stay  _ forever.”  _

“Roxy,” Jane calls from the doorway. “Let the poor girl breathe and help her with her bags. I have to focus on the finishing touches on the cake.” 

Dear lord. Did she make Rose a ‘I’m sorry you’re single’ cake? None of this information could leave this house. 

Roxy oozes through the car window and falls into Rose’s lap. It’s a bit of a squeeze, with the steering wheel and all. 

“Roxy,” Rose says. 

Roxy undoes Rose’s seat belt for her, but is still sitting in her lap. 

“It’s fine,” she says. “Really.” 

Roxy makes a noise that reminds her of those summer mornings when she’d been tasked with rousing her out of bed, a near impossible task. Her arms are clutching around her neck as stubbornly as she would her pillow. 

It’s nice to be hugged. By someone so bright and friendly as well. By family, by someone she knows for a fact won’t decide one day that she doesn’t want anything to do with her. 

“How dare you be sentimental with me in public,” she says, and hugs Roxy back. “You’re ruining my street cred.” 

“It’s about time the world learned what a softie you are,” Roxy replies, face nuzzled firmly into her neck. 

“Hostile enemy action,” she breathes, clutching at her. “You’re out to destroy me.” 

Eventually, Roxy unlatches herself from Rose just enough to lean back and look her in the eye, and Rose wonders if she’s got a smokey eye thing going on or if she’s been crying a little. Remembers that Kanaya and Roxy got along famously, that Roxy may very well have lost a friend today, that-- 

“You don’t have to choose me, you know,” comes out of her mouth. 

“What?” Roxy asks. 

“You don’t have to take my side. You don’t have to never see Kanaya again. I know you like her. You--” 

_ “Rosie,” _ Roxy says, aghast. 

“--have my permission to still be friends with her. I promise. No hard feelings.” 

Roxy looks at her for a long moment. “We can still be cuz besties, though?” 

“Yes, Roxy,” she says, smiling yet again. 

“Your feelings really won’t be hurt?”

“Yes, I promise.” 

_ “Pinky _ promise?” she asks, along with a raised pinky and eyebrow. 

Rose hooks her pinky around Roxy’s. “Pinky promise,” she says gravely. “Should we partake in the sacred spit handshake as well?” 

“EURGH,” Roxy says. Grimaces, and then rolls right out of Rose’s lap and through the car window. There’s a dull thump from where she presumably impacts with the ground. Rose grins. Roxy is well known for her disgust of bodily fluids in general. 

She exits the car, Roxy dusts gravel off of her short shorts like nothing happened, and they grab her luggage and enter Roxy and Jane’s shared home, Roxy hefting the garbage bag full of clothes over her shoulder like a Santa Claus that’s about to make a goth very very happy with his haul. Rose unleashes Jasper into the home the second she enters, and watches him disappear for who knew how long to explore his new surroundings, find new favorite scratching and napping spots, and shed as much fur as felinely possible. She drops her mega purse to the floor and watches half a dozen tubes of lipstick roll out of it and across the floor. 

Rose has never been a considerate unobtrusive house guest, and she doesn’t see why she should start now. 

“I hope you still like chocolate cake,” Jane says, entering the room and holding a ridiculously tall brown cake. Rose doesn’t see how the three of them can possibly be expected to eat all of that inside of a day, or even a week. Or how she made it in just an hour. Jane is magic. 

“The only way to find out will be to eat a slice or two, I suppose,” she replies, sighing like it’s a hardship. 

“I’m gonna go get milk!” Roxy announces, dropping her haul inside of the entrance as well, and bounces off to the kitchen, stopping briefly to kiss Jane on the cheek. Jane smiles at her, purses her lips at the mess that Rose has already started to create in her home in under a minute of being inside of it, and then visibly forces herself to stop thinking about it. From somewhere inside the house, Jasper distantly yowls with destructive glee. His new favorite scratching post has apparently been found. 

“It’s nice to have you, dear,” Jane says, walking over to the living room. Rose follows her. 

“It’s so kind of you to host me,” she says sweetly. 

“Oh, it’s nothing at all,” she replies magnanimously. 

Rose wonders how long the two of them could keep the chatter of empty pleasantries up. She’s honestly tempted to try and see. 

“So will we be eating on plates, or will we be shoving cake into our lipsticked maws with our bare hands like everyone secretly wants to?” she asks instead. 

“I’m afraid I only allow for confections to be eaten off of skin when it’s just Roxy and I,” Jane replies, entirely unflapped, which is only to be expected considering the kind of social circle the two of them spend their time with. 

The image of Roxy licking whipped cream off of Jane’s dark skin comes to mind, Jane licking dark sticky chocolate sauce off of Roxy’s pale body. Rose blinks rapidly. 

“Fetch the plates while you’re in the kitchen, Roxy?” Jane calls out, and Rose comes back to herself just in time to catch the slightly smug smile on Jane’s red painted lips at having successfully caught Rose off guard. 

Rose feels her lifelong competitive streak start to kick into gear. Oh, dear. There are usually only two things that result from that, which is either a nemesis or a new lover. And Jane is her beloved cousin’s serious long term girlfriend. She wonders if it would at least be acceptable for her to have Jane as a nemesis. 

“Already on it,” Roxy says, entering the room holding a carton of milk in one hand, three plates in the other, and balancing three glasses stacked on top of each other on her head. 

“Oh, gosh golly,” Jane says, alarmed. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got iiiiAAAAHHH!” Roxy says, and trips on one of those tubes of lipstick that had rolled to freedom earlier, somehow all the way to the living room. 

“Fuck,” Rose says, and instinctively grabs for Roxy. She captures her, and in the process Roxy drops everything else. Jane shouts and grabs at the glasses and plates, dropping the cake in the process. The carton of milk is, in the hindsight granted by two seconds, unwisely ignored and explodes upon contact with the floor. 

Jane with an armful of glasses and plates clutched to her bosom, Rose dipping Roxy like a dashing romance novel love interest, they all look down at the milk soaked, chocolate spattered floor. 

“Well,” Jane says faintly. “Perhaps we’ll just order takeout tonight instead.” 

Rose discreetly kicks the offending tube of lipstick underneath the couch while no one’s paying attention. 

 

They do get takeout after cleaning up the rather epically gigantic and unfortunate spill, and then they start marathoning the Harry Potter movies. Rose eats a folded up piece of pizza and pretends she isn’t looking at Roxy and Jane cuddling out of the corner of her eye. 

She wonders if what she’s feeling stirring inside of herself along with the cheese and the anchovies is jealousy. Jane and Roxy, as strong and solid as a rock. Jane and Roxy, loving and loved. Rose, sitting alone on her end of the couch because Jasper is currently busy trying to find the highest possible perch inside of the house. 

Jane stretches on the couch, muscles flexing. Bakers muscles on that woman. Or maybe it’s just something about her family, they’re all absurdly muscular from what she can tell, to the very last one of them. Roxy, small already and curled up smaller, nestles happily into Jane’s side, underneath her arm over her shoulders, rubbing her head against Jane’s shoulder, reminding Rose of a cat making sure their favorite human smells like them. The dress Jane is wearing looks like something a good wife from the 1950s would wear, except the top has a  _ low  _ cut, her significant bossom spilling out of it like she’s on the cover of a bodice ripper. The way she’s sitting, the skirt of the dress that would normally go down to her knees is tantalizingly bunched up by her thighs. 

Jane is beautiful and she and Roxy are in love, and yet for some reason Rose doesn’t think the building heat she feels in the pit of her stomach is envy. Want, definitely, but not a want for what they have, exactly… More of a physical want than something abstract. More like something she can actually reach out and take. 

“See something you like?” Jane asks, and Rose’s gaze snaps back up to her face to catch a raised eyebrow and light blue eyes twinkling with mischief. She’s been caught. Her face is a stone mask, but she can feel her traitorous light complexion reddening against her will. As she watches, Jane leans in and down to whisper into the shell of Roxy’s ear, her red lips smiling. Roxy’s looking at her as well. She giggles. 

Maybe she could say that she was just ogling the pizza. Except she’s already holding a slice in her hand. Well, this day has been just fantastic. Starting off with getting dumped, following up with creating a minor disaster in the house she’s a guest in, and then finishing it off by getting caught lusting after her cousin’s girlfriend. 

Roxy doesn’t look upset, though. Grinning and looking at her, she seems pleased more than anything else. Excited. Bouncy. 

“Perhaps,” she says, taking the risk, the plunge, because she’s nothing if not brave, adventurous, impulsive. Or at least her DnD characters are. 

_ “Perhaps,” _ Roxy repeats gleefully. “You  _ might _ think Janey’s hot, huh?  _ Maybe _ she’s a totally bombacious babe? She could  _ possibly _ be an absolute banger?” 

“All of this uncertainty over my attractiveness is starting to hurt my feelings,” Jane says. 

“Oh no!” Roxy says. “Rosie, fix it!” 

They couldn’t have more clearly invited her, given her permission. To comment at least. To look, to talk about it. 

“You can rest easy when it comes to your looks, miss Crocker. Your visage is stunning,” she says with bold suave. “Why, if there was a national ranking, no one would be able to look at it to check the top ten because your name listed over and over again would be too blinding in its beauty.” 

“Mm,” Jane says, pleased. “Details? I don’t know if I’m properly comforted yet.” 

Details. That’s going to a bit more difficult to phrase in an appropriately, safe humorous way. 

“Your lipstick… It’s a classic choice of color, of course. You wear it well.” Makes it hard to look at any other part of her face, with how attention grabbing the shade of red is. Arresting. 

“Anyone can wear lipstick,” she says. 

“Your muscles,” she parries. “You look strong enough to carry one Lalonde on each shoulder.” 

_ “Yes, _ oh my god,” Roxy says. “Janey does the best bridal carries, it’ll make you feel like a princess.” 

“And?” Did Jane just flex? “Muscles and lipstick, is that all there is?” 

Pushy. Classy. Funny. Sexy. Rose won’t be saying that. Too sincere. 

“Your teeth are very white,” she says instead. “And you smell like vanilla.” 

“The sexiest baking ingredient,” Roxy solemnly agrees. 

“Go on,” Jane says. 

“You sure do seem to require a lot of validation,” Rose says. 

“What had you been _ looking _ at,” she continues, unfazed. 

What she’d been looking at. Her cleavage, her thighs. That’s too, that’s, wouldn’t that be crossing a line? What if she upsets Roxy? Her eyes dart over to her. Roxy’s still smiling at her, the picture of encouragement. 

“Your bosom,” she says, the least serious word for it that she can think of. She licks her lips, belatedly remembers that she’s wearing lipstick. “And your…” Tries to think of a lighthearted word for  _ thighs.  _ Can’t. 

Jane crosses her legs, slow and deliberate. She already knows, she realizes. That sparks something inside of her, something heated and competitive, and the words finally leave her mouth easily. “Your thighs.” 

“That what’s you like?” Jane asks. 

“Perhaps?” Roxy echoes. 

“My thighs,” Jane says. “And…” A red smirk, “my  _ bosom.” _

“Such a considerable decolletage deserves a term weightier than  _ tits,” _ she says, the subtle mocking heating up her blood and loosening her tongue quicker than anything else possibly could. 

Roxy has a thoughtful look on her face. “So what I’ve got is tits, then?” 

“It fits,” Jane says after a moment of consideration. “What about you, Rose? Do you have tits or a bosom?” 

Roxy is rather flat, a perky B or A cup. Jane has a set of something you could  _ suffocate _ in, a most definite bosom. Rose is something in between. “Breasts,” she decides. 

“My, what diversity we have here in this room,” Jane says. 

“You really just gonna take her on her word, Janey?” Roxy asks, the slant of her smile going sly. 

Jane’s smile goes just as sly. “What do you suggest instead, Roxy?” she asks, like she already knows. 

“FBI,” she replies.”Federal Boob Inspectors.” 

“Reporting for duty,” Jane says seriously, unwinds from Roxy, and then starts slowly approaching Rose. Like an intent predator. 

Rose feels floored. Jane is coming closer. To touch. To touch  _ her. _ She wants to slide her eyes over to Roxy to check her reaction, but wouldn’t be able to rip her gaze away from Jane’s piercing blue eyes for the life of her. 

And then there she is, swinging her leg over Rose’s lap, settling in, confident and at home, taking the pizza slice that she’d long forgotten about out of Rose’s hand and putting it away. 

“Do you consent to this frisking, ma’am?” Jane asks. 

“It’s against booby law if you don’t,” Roxy says reassuringly. 

It’d be against some different laws as well, but Rose gets it. They’re giving her a casual comfortable out. 

If Roxy’s fine with it… 

She gives Jane a challenging stare. “I have nothing to hide, officer.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she says, and sets her hands on Rose’s shoulders. They’re dainty and small, but Rose can feel each and every callus thanks to her spaghetti straps. Bakers muscles, bakers hands. Slowly, with torturous sensualness, she slides her hands downwards. 

“That doesn’t seem entirely legal,” Rose says, pitching her voice low and quiet so she’s sure it won’t go embarrassingly breathy at the caress. “First officer, and now judge. Are you the jury as well?” 

“That’d be Roxy,” Jane says, and Rose’s eyes reflexively dart over to her at the sound of her name. 

Roxy is watching them intently, like Sollux has sent her an absolutely fascinating piece of coding. Enraptured. 

“I’m at least  _ one  _ of the lawyers, though,” Jane goes on, and then her hands reach her breasts. 

Jane Crocker’s hands are on her boobs. Rose… has no idea what to say or do. 

Which means she’s going to default to sass. 

She looks back up into Jane’s eyes and says, “This is starting to look like one of the most corrupt trials of the century, Your Honorable Officer lawyer person.” 

“Lawyers should get a special title too,” Roxy says. “Like doctors.”

“Agreed,” Rose says. 

“Disagree,” Jane says. “They’re full enough of themselves as is.” And then she kneads Rose’s breasts a little, and her toes might just curl a bit. She’s not that sensitive there but it’s more the  _ fact  _ that someone else is touching them. She should’ve maybe guessed what was coming with Kanaya, considering that she’s having a hard time remembering when they last-- 

“I don’t think I can conduct a full inspection with so many layers in the way,” Jane comments. “Visuals are poor as well.”

“So I know I started it but are y'all gonna keep that bit going the entire time,” Roxy asks. Rose appreciates it, because like hell was she gonna be the first one to break kayfabe. 

“I’ll just take her shirt off, then,” Jane says. 

“What romance,” Rose deadpans. 

“Up with your arms,” Jane orders, grasps the hem of Rose’s shirt, and slips it up off over her head. 

“Cute not-bra,” Roxy comments. 

Rose is indeed not wearing a bra. Hey, it wasn’t as if she could have possibly anticipated getting laid today, right? She wonders if she remembered to pack her extra lacy underwear. 

Jane palms her bare breast, idly caressing a nipple with her thumb. Rose, determined not to make any undignified noises, bites her bottom lip. It still makes Jane smirk just a bit. Rose narrows her eyes up at her. 

“I’d say this is the authentic product, but we’ve already axed that joke.” 

“What were you expecting,” she says, “smuggled mangos?” 

“Ohhh my god, you both  _ suck _ at dirty talk!” Roxy says. “Janey! I just thought you were that way with me because I’m ace!” 

“I’m afraid it’s shitty banter all day every day with me, dear,” Jane says. And then, to Rose: “Arch your back a little.” 

She raises an eyebrow at that, but then does so, because why not? Her backs bows, her breasts shoved further into Jane’s hands. Jane looks down at her intently, taking everything in. Rose feels  _ watched.  _

It’s a bit of a thrill, honestly. 

“Beautiful,” she eventually pronounces, and then leans down to kiss her firmly. Rose can’t help but inhale sharply through her nose, and then she’s trying to cover it up by placing her hands on Jane’s hips. 

“Janey,” Roxy says, off to the side. “You should-- your knee, between her--” 

Jane, without breaking the kiss, without taking her hands off of Rose, shifts her comfortable seat in Rose’s lap until she’s got a knee in between Rose’s thighs, pressing up into the increasingly damp fabric of her panties, her skirt hiking up. Rose, kissed breathless and being watched and touched and feeling dizzy with it, grinds against the solid pressure of the knee thoughtlessly. 

"You like that?" Jane asks, and Rose wants to say something snarky and biting in reply to the truly _ inspired _ dialogue happening here, really, except that the expression on her face and the heat in her eyes and the way she’s pressing her knee up against Rose’s cunt is making all of her wit and her words dry up, and she’s just left the with the fact that yes, she  _ does  _ like that. She likes it very, very much. 

“Spread your legs wider for me, sweetheart.” Not even phrased as a  _ request.  _

Rose mindlessly spreads her legs until the stitching in her skirt starts to audibly strain. 

“Good,” Jane says, and then slips out of her lap and onto her knees, and then then she’s pushing Rose’s skirt out of the way and reaching between her legs and-- 

Rose  _ cannot  _ help but cry out when Jane  _ rips _ her panties out of the way, she actually _ tears _ the pair. With one hand. She did that one handed, and now she’s tossing the fabric onto the floor without care, taking her glasses and carefully putting them away with far more care, and then she’s leaning in and close and Rose could not take her eyes off of her for the life of her. Her lips meet Rose’s pussy and the sound it makes is  _ slick.  _

Roxy giggles in the breathless silence of the room. 

Jane’s. Jane’s mouth on her pussy, smearing red lipstick everywhere, licking with languorous and thorough satisfaction, getting her chin _ wet.  _

Rose realizes that her hands are clutching desperately at her own hair, gently smoothing over Jane’s. She doesn’t know if it’d be alright to be rough with Jane, isn’t sure if it even feels right because even with Jane on her knees she feels very much in charge right now. Roxy the spectator and Rose the object and Jane, the actor. The doer. She feels like all she can do is lie back and try and take what Jane gives her to the best of her ability. 

Jane reaches for her hips, for her ass, and _ pulls _ her in closer to her mouth. A strangled cry escapes her. 

“She’s  _ strong,” _ Roxy informs her. 

Jane sucks on her clit and Rose’s eyes roll back into her head.  

“How about that?” Jane asks her, separating, her voice low and husky and Rose looks down at her to see her lipstick messily smeared, and she’s so close that her breath washes over her and leaves her tingling and shivering. The way she throws her legs over Jane’s shoulders and hooks her ankles around the back of her neck is entirely unconscious instinct. 

“Satisfactory,” she mananages. 

Roxy  _ cackles.  _

“I’ll show _ you  _ satisfactory,” Jane says, and dives back in. 

 

The entire rest of the afternoon is promptly spent by Jane and Roxy playing ‘How Many Times Can Rose Orgasm In One Day Without Dying’. After a certain point at which Jane taps out and declares that her jaw’s going to fall off at this rate, Roxy skips out of the room to fetch a hefty box full of sex toys. Vibrators, cuffs, dildos, strap ons, you name it. An entirely unbecoming sound escaped her at the sight. 

The final count is  _ eight. _ Eight fucking orgasms. 

Roxy grabs her lip arm and holds it up into the air. “We have a winner!” she roars. “New fighter Rose Lalonde beats local longtime champion Jane Crocker in Orgasmania, and steals the victory ring! The ring is a cockring!” 

“I’ll be taking that ring back next time,” Jane says, and collapses onto the mattress. 

The second Roxy drops the arm, it falls to the bed they’d relocated to at some point. Jane had carried her. She’d also carried Roxy, simultaneously. 

“Aw, girls,” Roxy says. “You tired?” 

_ “Yes,”  _ she says, after a long moment of mustering the strength to do so. Jane grunts in agreement. 

“It’s alright, your babe Roxy’s got you,” she says, pats them, and bounces out of the room with infuriating energy. She’d taken her clothes off at some point, but just be casually naked, apparently. She’d just observed, mostly. Commented, helped, fetched things, assisted with holding Rose down or in place, stroked her back or her hair as Jane shoved something particularly mercilessly large inside of her. 

“That was…” Rose says. 

“Yeah,” Jane says. 

Roxy skips back into the room, fluffs some pillows, drag them onto those pillows so that they’re lying at least a bit upright, and then help them drink water. They gulp it down desperately. 

“Any places that hurt?” she asks. 

“Everything below the waist,” Rose grumbles. 

“Thrusting,” Jane groans. “I think my hips want to murder me.” 

“Awww,” Roxy cooes sympathetically. “You guys want massages?” 

“This,” Jane says decisively, “is the best part.” 

“Hey,” Rose says as Roxy helps her turn over onto her stomach. “This is normal, right?” Damn, she’s been fucked to the point that she’s actually being openly vulnerable. Incredible. 

“We’re way too sexy for normal,” Roxy informs her, and yeah. She’s right. Too sexy, too cool, too badass, too goth. They can do whatever the hell they want. 

Roxy digs into a knot in her back and the sound that escapes her is as filthy as when Jane fucked her against the wall. 


End file.
